The Wings on the Moor
by ellymelly
Summary: Diaval watches the Moors for his mistress but he's watching more than the swamp and mist. He's watching her.
1. A Touch of Winter

**THE WINGS ON THE MOOR**

Diaval had only truly upset the fairy once. He spent the following week as a cat, prowling around in circles, stalking his own damn tail for everything smelled of bird and cat – an endless torment. He was dizzy by the time the enchantment wore off. Finally, he retook human form, crept up to her like he had done on soft paws and fixed his brown eyes on her.

Maleficent was gazing over the moors. The sun was burning its way between the outermost mountains, casting beams of gold across the mist. It was quiet, nothing awake nor truly asleep. She enjoyed this moment of peace where the universe seemed to hang.

"You made a poor cat, Diaval," she said, unmoving.

He lofted his thick eyebrow at his mistress. "As do you, apparently." She had made him that way, too heavy on his feat with feathery fur.

Impossibly red lips twisted into a smile. Maleficent turned to her old friend, happy to see him leaning on an aging oak tree. He had bits of the forest stuck in his hair and mud up to his knees. "True, you make a much better man." Or bird? She was finding it difficult to remember which he really was.

"Are you still mad with me then?" he asked, with smiling eyes. He knew that her anger had trouble lasting the hour. Her amusement – well he assumed _that _endured the whole week for it brought her no end of smiles to watch him climb trees and get stuck up them. Anything to make his mistress smile. There was so little happiness in the world. The wall kept the humans away but their hatred penetrated like the mist, bringing cold to everything it touched.

"Would you like your wings?" she asked softly, returning her attention to the morning sky. "I presume you ache to fly out into the fresh air and escape the ground a while?"

Diaval shrugged. _Yes_ he missed the sky. "I think I'll walk with you first, if you wish it, mistress."

She didn't turn to him but her eyes brightened with a flare of green. "Then we'll walk."

* * *

He watched his mistress sleep. Every night she walked along the river's edge and sought out a large fig tree to curl into its endless walls of roots. She wasn't happy unless their solid forms were pressed against her back, surrounding her as her wings used to. You didn't have to be a bird to know that the most powerful creature in the Moor was also the most fragile. It wasn't just her wings that the human king had taken, it was her trust. Her heart – well Diaval could see that it was still there, buried under all the rage and fear.

More and more he found himself left in his human form during the nights. At first he thought it was because she forgot to turn him back with a careless flick of her wrist but now he understood that she felt safer with him there. A bird could only do so much from its perch.

He walked up the river bank to where she lay and settled himself against the tree. The glow of a dying camp fire was enough to warm his skin. Diaval examined his hands. He was sure he knew them better than his wings now.

"He deserves your hate," Diaval said quietly. His mistress was not asleep.

"I doubt the other creatures of the Moor would thank you for encouraging me," she replied, eyes closed and great horns resting in the leaf litter.

"I do not mind what they think," he replied, snapping a small twig and throwing it into the flames. It crackled violently then died. "Humans are fickle. It is the first thing that we learn. One day they feed – the next they hunt. They listen to our song and shoot arrows into our wings. It is not your fault that you befriended one, nor that you were betrayed."

"Do you think he enjoys being king?" Maleficent dragged her claws softly through the dried leaves.

Diaval was sure that he felt the flames rise a fraction higher with her anticipation of his answer. She knew that he'd been inside the palace walls, watched and listened from the arched stone windows. "It destroys him," he assured her. "He locks himself away from the others and whispers to himself. The king of the humans is mad. He left his mind on the Moor when he took your wings."

Maleficent wasn't sure if that comforted her. "I loved him once," she whispered. Loved him still? She longed for the days when her human called for her at the edge of the forest. She equally hated herself for missing his hushed words and warm arms. After all he did, she wasn't sure that she had ever stopped loving him. She wanted to _hate him_. "Did I take you from a family?" She'd never thought to ask.

Diaval smiled at his mistress again even though she wasn't watching him. "Well, you did steal me from a rather decent field of corn."

There was a flare of green and Diaval found himself hopping around on the ground by the fire. Well, at least it wasn't a cat this time...

* * *

His wings had never felt heavier, flapping against the ice-laden air. Snow stuck in his feathers as he cleared the human village and set out over frosted fields. Skeletal trees made poor nests for the other birds and even the Moor, in all its natural warmth and heated springs, did not escape winter's touch. The mountains scattered through the magical land were dusted with snow while the wall of thorns seemed to shrink at the cold.

Diaval ducked easily through the thicket of thorns and emerged on a pile of fallen stone. He perched, tilted his head and searched with big brown eyes for his mistress. He was magically bound to report his news to her but instead he wished he'd torn a wing on his way here. Anything that might have prevented him from imparting the terrible truth that he'd learned inside the castle walls.

"You took your time this morning," the dark fairy wandered out of a cave with her staff clicking softly on the stone ground. She flicked her fingers and a flare of magic twisted away his wings and claws, replacing them with a troubled human form.

"Mistress..." he started softly, choosing to stay on his knee in front of her.

"Diaval?" she asked.

"It's the king," he replied, eyes to the ground. "There's to be a child."

Maleficent translated his words to what they really meant. _The king has forgotten you._ "You did not mention that he was married," she replied, cold as the ice settling on the swamp grass.

"Forgive me mistress, I did not know."

"And you lie!" Maleficent's eyes flared jade.

Diaval bowed his head lower. Yes, he lied. She had never specifically asked him if the king had taken a wife.

"Away!" she tapped her staff on the ground and his body crumbled back to feathers. The raven left, swooping over the water where she could not follow.

Many hours later, he found her on a cliff, watching over the lands of men instead of her precious moors. Diaval knew that it was the twisted creature at the heart of the palace that held her attention. Did she torment the king as much as he did her? Whatever love had been there was cursed and spun into something else.

The raven landed and dropped a Moonflower in her lap. She stared at it in surprise. He must have flown all the way to the snowy mountains to pull it from its hiding place in the cliffs. Her raven stood beside her, scratching the ground with his sharp claws.

"It really isn't your fault," she whispered, stroking his feathers. "I should have guessed that this day was coming. He is a king. Kings have their queens. I don't know why I thought it would be different."

Maybe she had planned a very different future in her head since she was a small fairy running around the forest. He was to be king of the human lands and she queen of the Moor. There would be peace and a perfect harmony not seen in hundreds of years.

"Why did he take my wings?" she asked her raven. "He came for my life and I'd have rather he have that." The bird nipped at her fingertips impatiently, wanting to say something. "I would have fallen asleep thinking that all was forgiven and never known this darkness. I hate it. I hate it more than I hate him."

She refused to change his form so Diaval had to stand there and watch the silent palace with her.


	2. Something Like Spring

The fairy wasn't eating.

All his beak and wings could carry were berries so he picked the best from the Moor trees and flew each sprig down to the twisted nest that she had made for herself in a cliff tree. He set the coloured orbs around her hands and picked up the old ones that had withered, tossing them off the cliff. Maleficent was still refusing to change his form so he made do, pecking gently at her hands until she stirred.

That damn bird was back, fluttering around with too much vigour for her black mood. "Stop that..." she hissed at the raven, flicking him away. The bird ignored her, dipped his head and picked up the berries. He hopped them all the way onto her chest and dropped them again, stamping his feet. "Why do you bother?"

Diaval had been out, flying the Moor every day before venturing bravely into the dangerous world of men. He had much to tell her of his journeys but this form was dumb to the complex human words he needed. He was certain that she didn't want to hear of anything beyond this cliff. _That's why he still had wings._

He hopped his way gently up onto her shoulder and then settled in that warm crook between her hair, horns and cheek. The bird tucked his beak into his feathers and did exactly as his mistress wished – remained silent. Diaval couldn't help but notice that winter held on longer this year. Was the world waiting for her magic to nudge it into spring or was it her magic that begged the ice to stay?

* * *

"It's a bit.." Diaval lingered under a heavy torment of knotted vines. Their thorns were bent inwards toward its aching limbs on this side of the wall but they were no less sinister to look at. His mistress was preparing to attend the celebration of the new princess in the kingdom of men and he couldn't help but notice that her gown now matched her mood.

"What?" She replied, straightening the long, black swathes of material that dragged across the brittle swamp grass. It made her look tall and thin like an angry stick of charcoal pulled from the fire.

"...dark..." he shrugged, hoping the reply didn't incite a fit or rage.

"Says the raven to the fairy," was all Maleficent offered in response.

Well that, Diaval had to admit, was a fair point.

* * *

There was nothing for his claws to dig into on the green jewel wedged atop of her walking staff. He slipped and flapped his wings until he steadied on his uncomfortable perch. He didn't like this. They shouldn't even be here. Sure, there were windows high in the rafters that he could slip and fly to freedom but his mistress had no wings to flee on. She walked the ground like a common human, stumbling over ill-placed stones and up endless stairwells leaning heavily on her staff. Her balance had never recovered the loss of her wings and he was starting to worry that it never would.

Finally they came before the king. The courtiers hushed, some of them even recognised the black bird that haunted the passages, watching – never crowing. The king was there, seated on his throne and adorned with all form of worldly gem and fur to give the illusion of godly-magnificence. It only made more stark the truth – that he was merely a man. There was no army in this kingdom that could bring fear to his eyes like the appearance of the fairy to the foot of his throne.

Fairy – or demon? It was hard to believe that the creature below was the same soul that lived in the Moor, delighting in the world. She had no wings but the memory of them flared in her eyes whenever she looked at him.

Diaval noticed something else while watching the king fumble for words. This human had loved as rashly as his mistress. Greed won the hour he chose to be king but the price the man paid was his sanity. He was so afraid to look on what he'd done that he couldn't stand the thought of the fairy let alone the sight of her, as dark and evil in her gown as his heart had become. She was the manifestation of his fears and he begged them, begged her to stop.

Maleficent laughed at the dreary hall and all its fearful kin. So this was the world that he'd longed for? The desire that was greater than their friendship? If he'd wanted jewels and castles she would have built him one herself more grand than this despairing ruin. What a strange, strange thing to look on.

She did feel pity for the woman at his side but not enough to stop.

* * *

Following the three fairies was embarrassingly easy. Eventually Diaval grew tired of soaring overhead and swooped right down to sit on the roof of the carriage as it trundled along the forest paths. The child was asleep, rocked by the motion of the heavy wheels.

In truth, the bird was happy to be away from his mistress. Her mood had set permanent storms over the Moor that lashed at its grand mountains. Another rumble on the air caused him to hop around, beady brown eyes catching an unseasonal flare of light through the clouds far beyond the realm of men. Even a bird had the good sense to be afraid.

* * *

"They have absolutely no idea what to do with a child," Diaval complained, washing his face in the cool water. He'd been spending more time than usual as a bird, watching over the tiny version of the king into which his mistress had channelled her hatred. "It won't live out the week if you don't do something."

Maleficent was still wearing black and it pleased her to sit on a throne fashioned from dormant cherry blossom branches. It might have been beautiful except her mood was preventing the buds from opening.

Diaval flicked his head back and shook the water from his hair. It ran off as though it were from his feathers instead of the curled dark locks she'd given him. He could have sworn his own clothes were darker each time she turned him. Even his feathers had gone from coal to the vast void between stars.

He retrieved his shirt from the bank and carried it over one arm as he made his way toward the ghostly throne and the Moor's dark queen.

"Mistress, if you wish to exact your revenge on the king – the child _must live_."

"Clever little bird." Maleficent knew exactly what he was up to.


	3. More than Wings

If birds could swear, Diaval would be cursing up a storm. The infant had a hold of his wing, several choice feathers tangled securely in sticky, human fingers. His delicate quills about to snap... He was tugged unceremoniously into the cot and stared at by the baby princess who thought he was some kind of magical toy.

Not a toy. Very not a toy.

Diaval wriggled carefully until he managed to free his feathers. To his horror one was a bent out of place and refused to fold back properly. Diaval was well aware that he owed his mistress his life but he wasn't sure he owed her baby sitting duties. That felt like a step too far in his servitude.

The raven hopped side to side, staying out of reach. He had a feeling that raising a baby would be _much _easier in his human form.

* * *

Maleficent tilted her head in a bird-like manner, eyeing a nasty bruise running down Diaval's forearm.

"What happened to my little bird?" she asked, her tone softer than her usual morning growl.

He was tired. Black circles sank beneath his eyes and all Diaval wanted to do was stretch out on a patch of thick grass and sleep through the day. How wonderful the sun would be on his feathers – or skin – whichever his mistress gave him. He didn't even care as long as there was sleep.

"Oh this?" he lifted his arm. Diaval tugged his sleeve down over the angry bruise, shrugged it off then lied, "I flew into a tree."

Maleficent blinked those enormous green eyes at him in amazement. Honestly, she thought he'd learned how to fly by now. "How careless."

"Yes, mistress."

"Don't do it again," she insisted.

That was the trouble with fairies, he realised, they were terribly easy to deceive. "As you wish," he promised. As Diaval turned away he wondered how a soul that had experienced the worst betrayal could accept thinly veiled deceit... He made a promise of his own – that he would become her suspicion as well as her wings.

"No – wait," she crossed in front of him. Maleficent placed her staff against an ancient tree for she needed two hands for this. "Stretch out your arm," Maleficent instructed.

Diaval frowned but did as he was bid, lifting his bruised appendage up for his mistress's inspection. He tensed as warm hands gently gripped the flesh – one at his wrist, the other his elbow. He wasn't sure why he thought her touch would be cold. Diaval watched a green light creep through his veins, pulsing toward the bruise which vanished almost at once.

"These wings are very important to me," she whispered, releasing him.

Diaval stood there – arm stupidly aloft.

There was something about those raven-eyes of his that Maleficent couldn't bear. They tore straight through the storms cast around herself to the quiet, lonely fairy wandering the Moors. She didn't want anyone to know that girl again.

A snap of her fingers and Diaval sank from sight. Her magic and his wings blended into an ebony mist before he collected himself and rose out of the ink, flapping up to a branch, every feather in place.

* * *

"It won't stop!" Maleficent lay on a bed of dried leaves, a sturdy wall of roots around her. There were stars dotting through the Spring canopy above and a dense layer of fog pressed down into the ground. Its surface moved like a restless ocean, lapping around the trees of the Moors. Diaval was somewhere close by but she couldn't seem him beneath the impenetrable cover.

How was it possible that the screaming infant's cries made it all the way through the wall of thorns to her sleep but the fairies in the next room had nothing but peaceful dreams?

"Diaval..." she whispered, reaching through the fog for her bird. _Man_ she realised, finding a leg rather than wing. A grunt told her that there was more chance of ending the war than rousing him. "Damn creature – even you can sleep."

With an uneasy glance toward the world of men, Maleficent tugged down a hood to hide her horns and set off into the night.

* * *

Diaval frowned.

It had passed the hour for his morning fly over the Moors. He checked his reflection in the water again. A definite _human_ stared back, all weird-looking hair and nose. Certainly no wings.

His mistress was not her elegant self. She lay in a field of grass with a single, drooping oak to keep the morning sun off her pale skin. Diaval thought she looked rather wild. Whatever dreams she found herself in, they were far from the sadness of her world and he had no wish to steal her from them.

Diaval walked the Moors instead and found that life without wings had beauty too. When you were high above you missed the tiny flowers amongst the grass, fish slinking silently under river rocks, fae humming in the thickets and fellow ravens crowing at the morning. Those birds laughed as he ambled by but Diaval merely waved.

* * *

"_Into a raven. Into a mouse. Into a cricket. Into a fox. Into a man. Into a-"_

"Do you mind?" Diaval's eyes were wide. He'd been woken rather rudely from sleep by an indecisive mistress.

Caught, Maleficent's hand hung in the air, fingers twitching with a green aura flickering expectantly.

"Why are you doing that?" he frowned, unable to read her saucer-like eyes.

Practising? Playing?

"_Into a raven," _she quickly said, before he could press her further.

The bird squawked and perched across the fire from her.


	4. Of Magic and Men

He flew at her face, bristling his feathers against her warm cheeks. The raven could only hover there for a moment before he had to withdraw, flapping away to regain some height before trying again.

Diaval's wings touched her face, provoking a frown from the fairy.

"Stop doing that!" She waved him away gently. He was all a blur of feather and charcoal as though he'd been rolling in the ashes of a fire. What ravens got up to in their free time she would never understand. Still, irritating her into changing his form was Diaval's new trick. _"Into a man!" _she muttered. Maleficent flicked a puff of green mist from her fingers as he came toward her, causing him to fall from the air and land on his knees at her feet.

Diaval stood up, finding himself nose to nose with his mistress. He blinked in surprise, brown eyes meeting green.

"What is it that you want, Diaval?" she broke the silence for him.

He'd completely forgotten – stupid, feathery brain of his! "It's ah..."

"Aurora?" she offered helpfully, when he struggled. He was always fussing about that infant. She could have sworn it was his rather than the king's beastly offspring.

"No, she's fine. The fairies are playing cards while she sleeps." He always knew what was going on in that house. If someone didn't watch over that little girl she wasn't going to make it anywhere near her sixteenth birthday. He was beginning to think that the hard part was getting her that far, breaking the curse would be a breeze. "Oh – I remember now." And he wished that he didn't remember. "It's the king."

The king. A man who Diaval only had to mention to see his mistress turn a dark shade of green. He wasn't there to see him tear her heart out but he had seen what that beast did to her beautiful wings. Diaval wasn't sure what he hated more, the withered soul on the throne or the truth that his mistress still loved him...

"Is he advancing on the Moors?" she asked, tight lipped.

"No, mistress. He has – requested that all the iron workers in the land report to his castle. He is buying every store of the raw material and having it stowed away underneath the palace. Mistress, what do you suppose he's doing with all of that armour?"

"Melting it into swords, I imagine," she wrapped her fingers so tightly around the stone embedded in the top of her staff that she expected it to shatter.

Diaval was surprised that the mad king had not covered the walls of his precious palace in the hideous metal. If he was so afraid of the fairy, why did it feel like he was inviting her – expecting her to come to his door? What did he hope to gain from his mistress's wrath – one last chance at a victory over her or was he hoping that she'd end his suffering with a flick of her fingers and puff of green smoke?

* * *

Confiscating every spinning wheel in the kingdom was more problematic than the king had expected. Without them, no new cloth could be made locally and the cost of importing it drained the city's finances, plunging the world around the king into abject poverty. Ironically, the house with his daughter and three hopeless fairies still contained a spinning wheel, half-hidden under straw in the shed where the animals slept.

The villages around the castle began to crumble and soon so too did the granite lumps holding the palace in place. As Diaval flew over one of the turrets he noticed his usual perch had taken a tumble far below to the world outside the palace walls. He picked a different stone to perch on, folding his wings back as he settled. It was nice in the sun and the stone was warm under his feet. He did this every morning after his flight over the Moors. Sometimes he felt like he was the watcher of both kingdoms, that of men and magic.

* * *

She didn't like to look at it.

The mass of twisted thorn and vine encased the magical world like a disease. Maleficent told herself the same thing that she whispered to the creatures of the Moors, that it was a necessary evil to keep out the human king and his armies. The truth was that it was a visual reflection of her tortured heart and the walls she'd built to stop anything from ever again laying a claw on it.

Diaval, her faithful bird, was the only creature that paid no heed whatsoever to the vicious limbs. Her perched on a thorn-spike that was longer than his whole body and casually preened.

"What did your wings find?"

He glanced up and then put his beak back among his feathers. If she was going to ask him questions, she'd have to turn him for the answers.

Maleficent rolled her eyes and turned him.

Diaval hastily gripped at the branch, suddenly finding himself sitting awkwardly on a sharp branch. Men weren't made to climb trees. Their ill-balanced bodies were clumsy off the ground. "More of the same, mistress. The castle is a dark stain on the land. The people are starving and the queen, who no one has seen for months, is ill."

Though she'd lost count of the ill thoughts she'd had towards the queen she barely knew, Maleficent felt a moment of sympathy. If the king's dark thoughts could poison the land, what did it do to those closest to him? Surely he was surrounded by pale, deformed shadows.

"Are you just going to leave me up here, then?" Diaval asked. How far could humans fall without breaking anything?

Maleficent hadn't realised she was walking away. She turned casually and eyed the man aloft in the vine wall.

"What's it like from up there?"

"Not so bad, I guess," he shrugged. "I can see the top of the palace – bits and pieces of the farms. A windmill over there." That was the farm where she'd rescued him.

It wasn't the wall's fault that people were afraid of the thorns. It was strong and tough – neither trait meant that it was cursed. Maybe that's all her heart was – protected by strength and just like the wall, there were creatures that could sneak straight through it.

* * *

"I thought you didn't like children..." Diaval couldn't stop grinning, arms folded across his chest as he watched the dark fairy. Maleficent was carrying Aurora back to the cottage, trying to ignore the happy sounds that the infant was making.

"I don't but that doesn't mean I want it to spend the night alone in the forest." Honestly, the king could not have picked a more irresponsible pack of fairies to take care of his child. He was bloody lucky that his nemesis wanted the child to live long enough to be cursed!

"I hate you, Beastie."

His mistress kept saying that but Diaval didn't believe a word of it. He fell into step beside her.

"Stop smiling," she instructed.

"Is that an official request, mistress?"

"Yes, Diaval, that is an official request!"

He lips stopped smiling but his eyes didn't.


	5. Summer in a Stream

His mistress did not hate the little girl. In fact, Diaval doubted that his mistress was capable of any kind of true hatred. Rage – certainly. Jealousy? Everyone could feel that but when it came right down to it, Maleficent could have killed the king and ended everything right there. When she didn't, Diaval saw her weakness. It was her heart.

"Come down from there, Diaval, and help!" Maleficent insisted.

The small Aurora kept wandering to the edge of the forest, playing in the thickets where small fairies nested. There were a few green ones buzzing angrily around her, trying to stop the infant from crushing the flowers in her glee.

Diaval – a man – slid from the low branch and landed on his feet. It seemed keeping him a man did nothing to tame his bird instincts.

"It is not that difficult, mistress," he insisted, scooping up the little girl and settling her on his hip. She grinned up him, happy as you like.

"Well – take it back," she waved her hand dismissively at him.

Diaval only laughed, carrying the tiny princess through the forest to the cottage. Ever since that afternoon in Spring, Maleficent had not picked Aurora up again. He assumed it was because she could feel herself getting attached to the cursed creature.

"Don't you worry," Diaval whispered to the baby girl. "Your fairy godmother is not as cranky as she sounds. She's lovely really," he paused for a moment, a smile on his lips. "When you get bigger and you get to know her, you'll understand."

* * *

It was hot – high summer in the Moors and all the creatures that usually spent their days buzzing about in chaos were strewn over the river bank, trying to cool off. Anything that had wings beat them slowly to make a breeze. Maleficent had no wings so she'd found herself a cool hideaway against the cliff, shaded by the walls of stone and veils of vine that dripped all the way into the water. She envied the fish and their life away from the sun. They dashed madly around from rock to rock as though nothing was wrong.

Diaval refused to let her turn him back into a bird. Feathers were hot, he had complained. Instead he was beached on some huge bolder in the middle of the water wearing absolutely nothing. He was going to get burned if he wasn't careful – a concept that was entirely new to him.

Maleficent was of no mind to disturb him now.

As the sun rose higher and the heat became unbearable, she gave in to her desire for the water. With a careful snap of her fingers, her clothes vanished and the dark fairy – now a porcelain white save for her long, black hair, slipped into the cool water. It wasn't every day you saw a fairy swim. Most couldn't manage it with their wings.

She spied Diaval and indeed his skin was red but not painful enough to wake him from his sleep and alert him to his folly. Maleficent smirked and swam around to the rock, eyeing him as though she were a savannah creature and he her prey. Instead of pouncing, she cupped her hands full of water and splashed it over his chest.

Diaval sat up with a surprised shout – overbalanced – and toppled off his rock into the cold water of the pool. His ungraceful _splash _sent a wash over the creatures on the bank.

"Serves you right, silly bird..." Maleficent was grinning, her lips dark red and eyes green.

Diaval emerged with a definite frown. If birds swam it was carefully and certainly not with so little demure. "What did you go and do that for?"

She pointed at his scarlet chest.

"Ow..." Diaval drawled, the pain coming as soon as he looked down and saw his skin. "What good are humans if they can't stay out in the sun!" he complained.

"That is why they wear clothes, Diaval," she explained.

It was only then that he realised his mistress's naked shoulders were visible out of the water. His gaze faltered and it dawned on him that she wasn't wearing anything at all.

Thank goodness the sun had turned him red or she would have seen him blush.

* * *

"Honestly, would you stop doing that? The poor worm is long gone..." she muttered, as Diaval scratched around in the dirt, flapping his feathers in search of a grub. He'd been at that for hours. "Into a man!"

Diaval found himself crouched in the dirt, hands black from digging around. He looked up through his long, wild hair with a frown. "I was busy."

"No, you were annoying." She had been watching a steady column of smoke rise from the kingdom all day. "What are they burning?"

Diaval dusted off his hands and stalked away from the worm. There wasn't much point now he was man. They simply didn't taste the same. "Spinning wheels," he replied. "Every last one is to be dragged into the dungeon and burned."

"I thought the kind did that already?"

"He did but he's had more brought in from the neighbouring villages. No one is allowed to own one. He uses the heat from the flames to melt the steel."

"He is mad," she whispered. "Aurora is only four years old. Why do all this now?"

"The king _is mad_," he agreed with her. "I sit at his window sometimes. He talks for ours but there is no-one there with him in the room." Diaval neglected to add that it was Maleficent he spoke with, night after night – questioning her, begging her – raging at her. The king stared at those beautiful wings of his mistress and cursed all the world. His words had no power and his curses fell dead on the stones. "Who can guess what he will do next."

* * *

"Why don't they ever heal?" Diaval asked. He'd interrupted his mistress, finding her alone in the woods. She wasn't wearing her normal cloak and he could clearly see the severed stumps in her back where her wings were cut off. They were red and bleeding – always inflamed. "I have seen you heal many creatures in this forest, why not heal yourself?"

"Magic cannot heal magic," she replied, turning so that he couldn't see her wounds. She was self conscious about them, even in front of her faithful bird.

"Well – have you tried?" he took a step closer to her but she shied away and he stopped. Sometimes he did not like this form. His mistress was not as easy with him when he was a man even though he had the same heart.

"Of course I have tried," she snapped. It would be easier to heal her heart.


	6. Black Eyes from a Dream

"Diaval? Diaval? Where is that damn bird!"

Maleficent stalked through the forests of the Moors, ducking between clusters of desiccated trees that had long since died in the sodden ground. They withered where they stood amid ghostly trunks and rotted carpets of leaves. She sank into the deep patches accumulated behind outcrops of rock, standing knee high in the decay as she searched for her bird beloved bird.

Where was he?

Diaval always came when called though she wasn't quite sure how he managed it. Sometimes Maleficent thought that he must be able to hear her voice on the wind no matter how far away he'd flown. Then there were times he'd arrive on her shoulder long before the words were whispered.

The fairy climbed onto the enormous trunk of a fallen tree. It was strewn between the ground and the cliff face, angled gently up so she could walk along its moss-drenched bark, rising higher.

"Diaval!" she called out to the empty skies.

She knelt, crouching right down until her horns touched the tree. Where was her bird? Where was Diaval? Without his presence the world felt flat – it was still beautiful and full of magic but Maleficent was withdrawn from it as though admiring a painting. There were very few things that tied her to life.

* * *

Diaval flew angrily at the closed window, crashing into the glass in a mess of wing and feather. The wooden frame rattled but gave no indication that it intended to open. Gods damn it all... He was trapped in the castle kitchens, possibly the worst place he could find himself. If only he were a man – how simple it would be to reach out to the handle, pull it down and open the window. It wasn't even locked! He tried it with his feet, wrapping his talons around the awkward brass knob but aside from looking ridiculous, it came to nothing.

It was his own fault for falling asleep on the rafters. _Just a short nap_, he had told himself, tucking his head in among his feathers. He'd slept soundly to the smell of the castle dinners and the idle chatter of the staff. He'd learned a long time ago that if you wanted to know what was happening inside the realm of men all you had to do was perch in the castle kitchen for a while. It was the hive of reliable gossip – and the bits of bread he was able to scavenge on the side didn't hurt either.

Now look what he'd gone and done! His mistress was going to be so angry. He could already feel her calling out to him. There was some form of magical bond between them. He always knew when she needed him – probably before she even realised. Not being able to return to her made him anxious.

He tried every other door and window – even flying up to the highest rafters to see if there was a nook to crawl through but there was nothing except a chimney above the stove and _to hell with that_. He wasn't scrambling up that derelict pile of stones for anyone. His vanity was allergic to soot.

* * *

Few had seen the fury rise in the fairy's eyes quite like it was doing now. It seemed to simmer, flickering like great, violent flames around her pupils. She had sent forth _all_ the birds to find Diaval and each flock came back with nothing.

She couldn't understand how _none _of the other birds knew him. Maleficent had assumed that he must spend his time away from her with them – tossing about in the sky, chattering in trees and hopping about in the dust. There was no truth in it. Diaval was too man to be a bird and too bird to be a man. He was a creature of her creation, more magic than anything else. When he wasn't in her presence he was alone, watching over the Moors.

"If he is not back before the sun rises, I will tear this world apart!" she hissed darkly, storming along the thorned wall that divided the worlds. "Starting with that castle and all its wretched creatures."

The inhabitants of the Moors looked on fearfully. They had not seen her in such a rage since the day of Aurora's birth celebration. There were reports that the fairy had made columns of green fire light the skies in devilish storms of magic. For some, it was the day they learned that magic was ambivalent. Good, evil – they were labels that had no meaning. Power – that was magic in its purest form. Power to do _what_? That was the only question that mattered.

Maleficent didn't tear the world apart when the sun rose.

She was back on her cliff, standing on the edge where she had the best view of the palace and the farm lands that rolled around that ugly structure. Enormous stone windmills were casually turning in the morning breeze, she could hear them creaking with age. The last stars were clinging to the umber sky while the sun – a disc of red flame, struggled through the cracks between the mountains on the Moors. It was morning and Diaval wasn't here.

"Diaval..." she whispered.

* * *

The raven landed at her feat, oddly quiet. For a moment she mistook him for a real bird. It was only when he hopped impatiently from side to side that she realised that it was him, returned late into the morning.

Maleficent stared at the creature, green magic rising in her eyes again.

"And where have you been?" she asked the bird, her voice tight.

The bird hopped again, flapping his wings as though asking her to change him so that he might reply.

"All night I called for you," she continued. Maleficent curled her long fingers around her wooden staff, making the jewel at its top glow. "Not so much as a chirp."

Diaval didn't dare squawk back.

"Well, you can go now."

Her bird held his beady gaze with her, carefully ambling forward across the grass. He had no intention of going.

Maleficent's embarrassment made her turn from him instead and start walking away. She headed on the dusty track down from the top of the hill. She was making a note to command the other creatures of the Moors not to tell the bird about her threats to destroy the world over him. She didn't want him thinking she'd become King Stefan in his short absence.

She sighed heavily, turning to the raven. He was practically at her heels.

"Stop doing that."

Diaval squawked disobediently. He had no intention of stopping. That bird would follow her to the lowest levels of hell – which just happened to be the mad king's castle.


	7. Swords, Blood and Men

"What are you doing?" Diaval whispered urgently.

He was dressed in peasant clothes; a full length wrap of moth-chewed cloth which covered everything but his eyes, tied at the waist with an old length of leather. He had his gaze fixed firmly on his mistress. Concern rose with every breath. They shouldn't be here, so close the the King and his self-made hell. Maleficent was also disguised but even shapeless rags curved to her form, their dreary brown colour setting off her eyes until Diaval thought he was looking into jewels. _Magic_, he told himself.

"I want to see what our old friend is up to," she replied, edging along the wall. Her hands ran over its cracks, ignoring the tiny spiders that scurried away, delving deeper into the fractures that littered every stretch of castle wall. They were approaching one of the servant entrances, slipping by mostly unnoticed by the world. "Your stories are not enough," she told her bird. Part of her needed to see how twisted and dark Stefan was becoming. It almost brought her a comfort to know that he was suffering. He took her wings, Maleficent wanted to take his soul.

"Mistress, if you are caught – he will kill you. It's not like the last time – he has been preparing for your return. He has weapons – weapons made from steel. They are all through the castle. I have seen spikes welded into the ceiling!" like horrifying chandeliers ripped straight from a Gothic nightmare.

"Hush..." she raised her hand to him, a gesture a fraction from changing him into a creature of her choice.

Diaval held his tongue. The last thing he wanted was to become a useless bird, flitting around the rafters again if his mistress fell into trouble. He kept his mouth shut, following as she stole away into the castle.

When they found the corridors empty, Diaval was lulled into a false sense of calm. _It's okay,_ he tried to tell himself, _let her have a little hunt around, then we can go. No harm._ No harm indeed. Sneaking about in the servant areas was not enough for Maleficent. Soon he realised that she was heading up toward the main levels of the castle where they would surely be discovered.

Diaval instantly reached out and took Maleficent by the arm, tugging her sharply to a stop. "I know what you are doing," he accused.

Maleficent looked down at the hand around her arm. She was not used to being touched so and certainly not to being _stopped._ She was the queen of the Moors – no one had the right to stop her from doing anything and yet Diaval did his best. "Let go."

"This is not the right time," he kept his voice steady and his hold tight.

"Time for what, Diaval?" she acted coy.

"To find your wings or confront the King. I know you mean to do one or both and neither will end the way you wish it." Diaval knew all too well that there was no solace to be found in meeting with the King. He was too far lost in insane madness to hear any of Maleficent's wounds. The boy who met a fairy was long gone, ripped apart by fruitless ambition. Diaval had a feeling that his mistress wasn't ready to see that or to accept that the human she loved was dead. As for her wings – she'd be killed trying for them and _Diaval_ wasn't ready for that. He'd never be ready for that.

"I will turn you into something more obliging if you do not unhand me this instant, Diaval!"

"Mistress, I beg you," he whispered, his eyes imploring her to trust him. "What do birds do best? We watch. I have watched these walls and I assure you, they hold nothing for you right now. Come back – when Aurora is of age. I will walk you to the castle myself."

* * *

It wasn't often that he found himself a man in the world of men. Diaval thought it was strange. He noticed different things, walking the palace rather than swooping into it. People spoke to him, some even vaguely knew him. He kept up a deceit as a baker delivering various trays of breads to the kitchens. If anyone ever caught him deeper in the castle he acted simple and swore that he was lost.

He'd done this for twelve years now and nobody even bothered to ask if he was seen in the library or hall. It was almost as though he'd become one of the stones.

He wasn't the only thing that had changed. The castle itself was heavily modified, groaning under the weight of metal that that had been added to its walls. Diaval lingered at a particularly fearsome corridor that King Stefan had commissioned. Half of it was adorned with a storm of steel swords. It looked like one of the carnivorous plants in the Moors though certainly less colourful. Between the steel and the stone, all this place had to offer was a monotone that made the storm clouds seem beautiful.

It was only then that Diaval realised that he was not alone. At the edge of the nest of spikes was a man, kneeling on the ground inspecting one of them. The strange character had the soft pad of his forefinger pressing against the sharp tip of the sword as if testing when it would break through and pierce the skin. It did so as Diaval approached.

"Excuse me," Diaval said, his head bowed in a manner appropriate to a lowly servant. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

What Diaval mistakenly thought was a courtier looked up. Those mad eyes, crazed with guilt could only belong to King Stefan himself. Instead of being locked safely in his quarters where the ambassadors like to keep him, he was wandering around the castle, inspecting the progress of his trap system.

"Can you kill a fairy?" Stefan asked the servant. His voice was hollow as though asking himself more than Diaval. "I tried once. I couldn't do it – it's their magic," he hissed. "It stops you. Steel..." the tip of the blade cut deeper into his finger as he spoke. Stefan paused, enamoured by the blood running over his skin. "Steel doesn't bend to magic. This hallway could kill a fairy."

"Do you expect a fairy to come to court?" Diaval asked dumbly, gently fishing for information.

"Oh yes, she'll come..." the King stood up and wiped the blood onto the wall. "She has to come. Her great plan is going to fail," he ranted, pacing uncomfortably close to Diaval "And when it does she'll come for her pathetic wings and then – then we'll see if fairies can die." The King frowned, tilting his head as he looked more closely at Diaval. "You're a strange looking creature," he added, eyeing the scars on Diaval's face and oddly hooked nose. Perhaps he was one of the demons from his dreams. "Have I seen you before?"

Diaval bowed low to the mad King. "I am a servant, your grace," he replied dutifully. "I have been bringing baked goods from the village for more than ten years. I expect you have seen me before, sir."

The King seemed to think on this for a moment before nodding. He slapped his hand on Diaval's shoulder so hard that the poor creature nearly squawked. "Bread?" the King laughed. "I love bread. Bring me something from the kitchens – take it to the Wing Room. I think I shall feast in front of those wretched wings this evening."

When the King finally left, Diaval laid back against the wall, the glinting steel to his left and the dark passage where the King retreated on his right. He felt his heart beat faster. His mistress kept trying to come to the castle. This is what awaited her – death and pain. He wanted to stop her from ever coming here but he knew it was inevitable. All he could do was stay and learn so that when the day came for her revenge, he'd be prepared as her guide and take her safely to her wings.

* * *

"Is that a flicker of grey in your plumage?" Maleficent smirked at Diaval.

Diaval instantly reached to his wild hair, running his fingers through it trying to hold it up to the light. After a few frantic moments of searching, all he could see was the same coal black that his feathers bore. No trace of grey.

"Your vanity is your most amusing quality," she continued. She was sitting by the waters of a forgotten stream in the Moors, away from the other lifeforms. It was a place where the trees always seemed to drop their yellowed leaves and kept a few branches bare.

"Taking a continued interest in one's appearance is not a bad thing, mistress," he insisted, sitting down beside her. "I do wonder, though..."

"Wonder about what?" Maleficent asked, green eyes flicking up to Diaval. She already knew his question – it was that he had not asked it sooner that surprised her.

"Well, birds don't live a particularly long time – even a magnificent raven. Men – they have a few decades on a bird but they certainly show the cost of those years on their feathers."

"Hair," she corrected.

"You know what I mean."

She smiled slowly. "I know what you mean. _Magic._"

"Magic?"

"Diaval, you are held together by magic – neither bird nor man."

"And what does _that _mean?" he frowned.

"That you needed worry about your feathers," she assured him. "As long as I'm around you'll get to keep that beautiful self of yours exactly as you like it – bird or man."

"Or dog..."

"I already apologised for that."


	8. Mountains Steeped in Mist

She might have apologised but Diaval was certain he could smell dog on his feathers as he tucked his head under his wing, preparing for a nap. Filthy, vial creatures! He was sure that his mistress had a soft spot for the mutts otherwise why else did she 'accidentally' keep clicking her fingers together and landing him on all fours?

High up in an Oak, Diaval closed his eyes as a few leaves were tugged free by a curious wind. They swept over his body, crunching through his feathers. He ruffled them out of his plumage and cooed softly. The Moors were sleepy and so was he.

It was a few hours of moonlit-fog drifts casually wandering over the Moors before Diaval noticed that there was something wandering at the edge of the thorn-wall. A figure, cloaked in soiled robes picked their way along the hostile wall. A peasant, no doubt, that had made the journey across the surrounding farmlands in the hope of finding some berries or even catching a bird._ Ha_, Diaval thought. They weren't going to catch him. He was well hidden in the tangle of Oak branches.

_'Maleficent?'_

Diaval's golden eyes snapped open. He turned his feathered head and stared sharply at the peasant.

_'Maleficent – are you there?'_ The human rasped at the impenetrable facade of thorns. There was a sadness echoing in their voice. Abandoned hope – perhaps? Was this a poor traveller that his mistress had left behind in her many adventures in the realm of man? Diaval took an instant dislike to them.

The bird waited on his branch for his mistress to come. She was always drawn to the edge of the Moors by the call of her name – even if she never revealed herself. For better or worse, she was inherently curious, much like a bird, Diaval realised.

He waited and waited and yet still Maleficent's presence never approached the wall. She must have heard this human. Diaval decided that he would find out what kept her away.

A black bird hopped off an Oak branch, sank slightly before the wind caught his wings and he went soaring up into a warm current of air. He stretched his wings, tilting gently over the large watercourse that tangled through the Moors. It was thicker today after a week of nourishing rain though it had succumbed to a reddish brown instead of its usual glistening blue. Diaval didn't mind – change was a part of the world, it proved that the water was alive.

Diaval had been lining himself up for a perfect landing when Maleficent caught sight of him and snapped her fingers. He tumbled awkwardly out of the air, landing in a heap on the grass.

His vanity cringed as he unfolded his ungainly human limbs. "Mistress..." he greeted, when he was back on his feet. The urge to preen all the grass from his clothes made him twitch.

"Did you enjoy your nap?" she asked causally, lounging against a rather ancient tree.

Diaval wondered how many fairies that tortured wood had served as a headrest. "Immensely," he replied. "Though," he added carefully, "it was disturbed by a lost-looking peasant."

Nothing. Maleficent didn't even blink those heavy eyelashes of hers. Whatever she'd found to stare at in the Moors, her gaze was locked on it.

"They were calling your name quite loudly," he continued. "Is it true that fairies can always hear their name – no matter who calls it or how softly?"

There was a long pause. Maleficent scraped her nails over a rock that her hand was resting on. "It is true," she affirmed. "Granted it's not my favourite skill." If only he knew what it was like to hear a hundred whispered prayers and do nothing about them. Yes, she'd heard the voice calling at the edge of the Moors. She'd heard it many times before. This was the first time she'd refused to answer it. Maleficent had learned her lesson and it cost her a set of wings.

Diaval thought very carefully about what to say next. He felt as though he'd accidentally stumbled into something he'd rather not press with her. "Will you still come if I call your name?" he asked, with large – hopeful eyes.

Maleficent managed a smile this time, finally turning her attention to Diaval. "Yes, little bird," she replied. "I'll always come if you call."

* * *

Making their way back across the gently sloped hills of a dozen farms was a king dressed as a peasant. It didn't take much costume to sell the deceit. The king's eyes were mad and his hair hanging limply to his shoulders. His features, once strong cut if not a little thin were now the harsh outlines of a skeleton with dark shadows at the eyes convincing enough to make some fear that Death himself was walking among them.

King Stefan wasn't sure why he'd gone to the forest. Of course Maleficent wouldn't come out from behind her fortress of thorns. Why would she? All he wanted was to see her – to prove to himself that he'd not imagined the last few years – invented her in his mind as a demon to torment him. Stefan had to make sure that she was flesh and bone and that the feathers shaking the iron cage in his room were really those of magical creature. If she was real then the curse was real. He drew strength from that. He was going to prove once and for all that man was stronger than magic. He'd beat this – this ridiculous curse of hers and then face her. It'd be proof, unequivocal, that greatness was the work of his own creation. From peasant to king – it could be done.

* * *

"Diaval! You are making me dizzy! Stop that!" Maleficent called uselessly to the sky above her head. Diaval had an insect in his sights. He was swooping and diving, clicking his beak at the edges of its dancing wings. He was going to have this creature – he could almost -

A screaming man fell from the sky and landed in the large pool of warm water. Several minutes later a very displeased human crawled over the bank and took up residence on a large boulder.

"I warned you..." Maleficent pointed out when he said nothing.

Indeed, a whole hour passed and he continued to say nothing. Diaval never complained to Maleficent when he was unhappy but he certainly had a rather silent way of letting her know that he was displeased.

"Have you seen Aurora today?" Maleficent asked.

Diaval was startled for a moment. She never usually asked after the child – though he had noticed her listening more intently to his stories of late. Was it possible that there was a sort of fondness growing for the child? It was difficult not to love the little girl. The creatures of the world were magically bound to do so. It was as inevitable as her dark fate.

"I perched on the table as she had breakfast outside," he replied. "Those stupid fairies have finally worked out that she can't eat flowers. They're giving her porridge which isn't great but at least she's not starving."

"My father always used to say – small wings, tiny minds..." Maleficent curled her lip in a bit of smirk – which faded when she glanced over her shoulder and remembered that she had no wings at all.

"I think he was right," Diaval agreed. "The really little ones do nothing but zap me whenever I fly past. I still can't work out what I did to annoy them. I think they just take a general dislike to everything." He inspected his clothes. Yes, he was almost dry now. He still couldn't believe that she'd made him fall into the water. "Was your father the king of the Moors?"

Maleficent remembered her father fondly. "There were no kings or queens of the Moors when my parents were alive. He was a caretaker along with my mother and a small group of fairies. I don't know where the other large fairies are. I think they retreated to the mountains when the humans started hunting around the borders of our lands. They don't like conflict."

Diaval looked toward the mountains. It was a strange place of cliffs and cloud – a world that was more magic than sense where all the edges of reality started to blur. The birds never flew that far toward the setting sun and those that did never came back. He'd sometimes heard it called a 'deadly beauty' – a lure for those who like pretty things and greener pastures.

"Have you ever been out there – toward the mountains?"

Maleficent shook her head. "No... I've thought about but – I don't know..." she looked at them again, narrowing her eyes at the immense beautify of the towering cliffs.

Diaval knew that he probably shouldn't but he couldn't help wondering – what if there were creatures in that world that could use magic to help his mistress? Maybe they could heal her wings or at the very least, help her recover them? Maybe, just maybe, he'd edge closer to the boundaries of the magical realm and take a peak at its secrets, after all, it could hardly be any more dangerous than his perch in the castle.

"Diaval, what are you thinking?" Maleficent asked him. He had _that look_, the one he got when a scheme was amassing in his mind. She wasn't sure she liked it.

"Nothing – nothing. Just plotting how to catch that dragonfly you saved from me earlier."


	9. Frosts That Turn Bitter

_Bad idea_, Diaval realised, though his good sense had kicked in far too late.

He was already climbing into a cool current, flapping his wings against the sinking air, pushing himself through it until he reached another cliff face. Diaval fluttered into an alcove. He dug his claws into the stone while he caught his breath. _Gosh this is high up_. Granted he was a bird, used to playing above the ground but it was rare to scale these kind of loft heights. The mountains on the farthest edge of the Moor were enormous. He poor little chest struggled with the thinning air. These wings were better suited to fields.

Diaval crowed at the green smear of the Moor below. From here he could see the thick wall that his mistress had built around it, fencing them off from the world. He could also see the camp fires of the king's soldiers dotted all around, trapping them with the promise of iron. The castle, much further on, had black smoke rising from its depths leaving a permanent stain on the clouds. It smouldered like a primordial volcano, spewing filth at the world. It was true, the king had turned the palace into a furnace for his hate.

He hopped closer the edge and tilted his head up, one of his beady black eyes inspecting the cliff. He had a long way to go until he reached the top. He wondered if this was where the other fairies had retreated – if any of them were still left that might come down and help his mistress fight against the humans. Would they hear him out – would they even care? Diaval didn't know.

He kept flying higher.

* * *

Maleficent frowned when she found another of his nests empty. She'd been searching for her bird all day but the trusty ball of feathers was no where to be seen.

"Diaval!" she called in frustration, hissing at the air with a scowl on her eyes. Usually that drew him out of the swamps but not this time. "Where is that damn bird?"

She'd been searching for him for so long that she'd forgotten why she needed him. Maleficent folded her arms across her chest, ignoring the ever-present flutter of pain on her shoulder blades. It never went away – the pain of her missing wings. She couldn't move without being reminded of their loss. It was bad enough that she had to walk the world – why did it have to hurt as well? Sometimes she thought that she could feel her wings, trapped in their case inside the palace. Perhaps that's where the deep curl of loneliness came from in her soul.

"Diaval!" she called again, realising that she wanted him to tell her the stories from the palace again. She wanted to hear about her wings.

Maleficent was startled by a crunch of leaf litter. She spun around, frowning at the empty marsh until she lowered her gaze. At her feet, a young Aurora was playing in the dried up leaves – scrunching them in her tiny fists before throwing them over herself. She looked like one of those idiot wood fairies.

"Where did you come from?" Maleficent frowned at the child. Her wall of thorns was impenetrable. "Did you toddle all the way down – no – don't do that..." she was interrupted by the little girl tugging on the bottom of her dress.

Did the fairies have no sense? How could they let a child wander off like this when there was a war going on? There were soldiers and creatures lurking everywhere. "Diaval! What do I do?" She called to the sky.

The sky was quiet. Not even a flutter of wings.

* * *

Dammit, this was more up Diaval's street. He'd know exactly what to do with a lost child.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with you..." Maleficent knelt down to the creature crawling about in the muck and leaves. The dark fairy wasn't even sure that she could pick the babbling thing up.

"Bird!" The young Aurora said, pointing to some of the feathers on the shoulders of Maleficent's cloak. Indeed, there were long, black feathers rippling in the warm breeze. Sometimes she wore this simply to vex Diaval.

"Uh – sort of..." Maleficent replied, looking nervously around for someone to help her.

It was not what Diaval had expected. After many hours and with the sun well past its half way point, he made it to the top of the mountain. There was snow beneath his bony feet. He left little V shaped tracks as he hopped around, inspecting the strange, frozen world. There was magic here – sewn through the ice crystals themselves. Time seemed to shimmer as though it were something fragile that could be broken.

"What kind of magic made this?" he chirped to himself.

"The same kind of magic that made you..." a deep voice purred onto the air. It was more like thunder than speech.

Diaval nearly shit the snow when a huge snow leopard unfolded itself from under a stony outcrop and pad toward him. Though its fur blended perfectly with the ice drifts, its blue eyes pieced the world. It was not a cat – not entirely. It was magic.

"What – prey – is a snack such as yourself doing so far away from home?" The snow leopard asked. It stood in front of a glacier whose violently blue ice teetered on the edge of a cliff, threatening to sheer off and crush everything below – which included Diaval.

The bird couldn't look away. He was like an ant caught in a honey trap. "I am no snack," Diaval replied bravely. "I come on behalf of a fairy – Queen of the Moor."

The snow leopard was still inclined to eat him. "There has not been royalty in the Moor for a thousand years," it replied. "The worlds of magic and men have blended too closely in the warmer climate. The magic folk here care nothing of it."

The pure bloods had retreated deep into the frozen world and had no wish to venture out.

* * *

Maleficent frowned at her bird.

"Diaval," she asked, "are you missing a feather?" More like half a dozen of them!

The bird said nothing, perched in a soft nest of leaves that he'd spent some time building.

"I think you are," Maleficent insisted, snapping her fingers.

Diaval appeared with a sigh. He clutched his arm, holding his hand over a nasty gash on his arm that looked suspiciously like a claw.

"Oh..." Maleficent whispered, when she saw the state he was in. "Did the farmer's cat get to you again?" she asked carefully. She knew that he had a long running disagreement with that creature. "I was wondering where you had gotten too for all that time."

Diaval nodded, saying nothing of the indifferent magical world that loomed above them. Now, when he looked at the mountains beyond the Moor, he felt their ice in the wind. They were alone in this and the King was inching closer with his army.

"Here – why don't you let me see – Diaval...?" He sidled away from her when she tried to touch his arm. "What's gotten into you?"

"It's just a scratch," he replied.


End file.
